


More Than Friends

by katyhasclogs



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-01
Updated: 2008-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyhasclogs/pseuds/katyhasclogs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does it mean when your best friend invites you home to meet his father? What do you do when it seems like your feelings towards him are becoming less than platonic? How do you know if you're falling in love? And how do you sort all that out while solving four murders and dealing with an insect infestation? No-one ever said the course of true love was a smooth one…</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Written (but not completed in time) for the MetamorFic_Moon summer challenge in 2008.

It was a typical hectic day in the Auror Department, and I’d been engrossed in a fairly complex murder case for nearly a fortnight -- the first investigation I’d ever been in charge of in my own right, as it happens, so I was desperate to crack it. After a week of excruciatingly little progress, I’d just had a breakthrough, and it felt _brilliant_.

I’d spent the morning methodically sifting through all the evidence, comparing every aspect of the victims’ lives and deaths, and finally, at about two PM, having worked straight through lunch, it hit me: they’d all died from the effects of a slow-acting curse, originating from stuff they’d acquired some time before their deaths. Problem was, this curse seemed far more complicated than anything I’d studied during NEWT-level Defence Against the Dark Arts or in Auror training. I _did_, however, know someone who should be able to answer my questions; someone who knew an awful lot about curses, particularly the slow-acting sort.

Remus and I had been good friends for a while -– pretty much from the moment I’d joined the Order more than nine months ago –- and he’d told me a bit about what he’d done between the wars. At one time he'd done a lot of research on cursed objects, and he’d had at least one article published, so he was the ideal person to go to for information. I decided to take that lunch break I'd skipped and head over to Grimmauld Place to speak to him; the quicker I found out more about this curse, the less chance there was of it claiming another victim.

I found him in the kitchen, stowing a packet of sandwiches and Moody’s invisibility cloak in a satchel. I sighed; so much for getting to speak to him immediately. But he looked at me as I came in and flashed me that lovely smile of his and when he asked what had brought me to Headquarters, I asked if he'd be free tomorrow so I could pick his brain about my case.

His expression became regretful. “No,” he said. “I’m away this weekend visiting my father. I’m afraid I’ve rather neglected him of late. I could meet you sometime on Monday, if that’s convenient.”

It was my turn to be disappointed. I shook my head. “I’m working all day Monday, and then I’ve got guard duty.” I sighed. “It’s urgent enough that I’d meet you during work, but I can hardly put ‘meeting with one of Dumbledore’s closest allies’ on my timesheet, can I?”

He chuckled, and I grinned back, glad to have made him smile again.

“No, that would hardly be sensible.” Remus paused for a moment, thinking. “Why don’t you come with me, then? You’d certainly be very welcome, and as I promised my father I’d help get rid of his Magical Book Lice infestation, which by all accounts sounds as if it’s got rather out of control, an extra pair of hands would be very useful.” He grinned. “If you don’t mind a few hours tedious hard work as payment for my indispensable advice, that is.”

That seemed like the best solution, so we arranged to meet at Grimmauld Place the next morning. I was actually quite keen to go, even if a Magical Book Lice infestation didn’t sound very pleasant. I’d heard bits and pieces about Remus’ childhood, and seeing where he grew up and meeting his father would be really interesting. Plus, I thought with a smile, spending a weekend in Remus’ company would be fun.

But as the afternoon wore on, and I thought more about it -- in particular, meeting Remus' father -- I began to doubt whether it really was such good idea. Mr. Lupin was bound to assume Remus and I were more than friends. After all, how many men in their thirties took a younger female _friend_ home to meet a parent? Might the invitation mean Remus saw us as more than just good friends? I felt a stab of guilt. Had I been giving the poor bloke the wrong impression for months now, making him think I felt something more than friendship towards him? He'd certainly looked disappointed that we couldn’t meet up the next day…

On the other hand, had I really been giving him the wrong impression? Hadn’t I been just as upset about the prospect of missing out on his company as I had been about missing out on his help? And earlier, hadn’t I thought of his smile as lovely, and been pleased when a joke I’d made brought it back? I remembered a comment Sirius had made a few days before about the two of us flirting. At the time I’d dismissed it as Sirius being an idiot as usual, trying to wind me up, but maybe he had a point. Maybe my relationship with Remus _was_ becoming more than just friendship, and I was the only one who hadn’t noticed.

There wasn’t time for any more thought on the matter that afternoon though; I still had more work to do on my investigation. I requested an inventory from the victims' families of everything that had been bought around the time that the victims had become ill, and made a lot of notes to show Remus at the weekend.

But as I drifted off to sleep that night, exhausted from the day, I couldn’t help but think that being more-than-friends with Remus might actually be pretty nice.

* * * *

 

I was up bright and early the next morning, and was packed and at Grimmauld Place before ten o’clock, where I found Remus just finishing breakfast. He greeted me once again with his usual warm and genuine smile. Was that the kind of smile that he gave everyone? And even if it wasn’t, did it necessarily express feelings any deeper than friendship? It was a mystery to say the least.

“All set, then?” he asked, banishing plates and mugs to the sink, and I nodded in reply. I hadn’t managed to eat much breakfast myself because of the butterflies playing Quiddich in my stomach, which was how I’d managed to be so miraculously on time. There was nothing to be nervous about, and yet I’d managed to worry myself into the idea that this trip would be the turning point in our whole relationship. Surely the subject of ‘us’ had to come up at some point?

Still, I tried to put these thoughts out of my mind as Remus collected his things and we went upstairs, trying instead to concentrate on not falling over my own feet (always a good idea when stairs and baggage are involved) as he held the door for me to exit the house. Outside, Remus re-cast the charms on the door and then stepped towards me. We were close enough now that I could see the green and grey highlights in his blue eyes and his pupils contracting in the sunlight. As he leaned closer still, taking my arm, I licked my lips and took a deep breath, noticing a scent that was undeniably _Remus_:soap and parchment and something sweetish that I couldn’t quite place. Had I ever been quite this close to him before? If I had, I certainly hadn’t noticed, though that didn’t necessarily mean much, since I’d never paid attention to the nature of our relationship until now. But why was he so close, and why was he touching my arm in that tender manner? Was he going to kiss me? Instead though, he stopped and moved back, looking a little confused; presumably he’d heard my gasp.

“I thought I’d take you by Side-Along, if that’s ok? It’s easier than showing you pictures and co-ordinates.”

I felt like such an idiot. Of course Side-Along Apparition was the obvious choice, not kissing, and it needed close physical contact to work. I nodded, unable to speak, and tried to squash the feeling of disappointment that had risen from somewhere in the pit of my stomach. Before I had time to collect my thoughts any more than that, Remus wrapped his arm around my waist and we’d Disapparated.

 

* * * *

 

I stumbled as we materialised and grabbed Remus’ arm to steady myself as I looked about me. We were standing in a narrow lane lined with short hedgerows. Beyond, I could see flat green fields stretching for miles towards the horizon, interrupted only by the gleam of water as it sparkled in the sunlight. Remus had released me and moved away a little now, and I turned to see a wide green-painted gate, and beyond that, a squat, rambling old farmhouse built out of yellowish brick. Between the gate and the house was a spacious cobbled courtyard surrounded by various outbuildings; off to the right I could just see an overgrown cottage garden folding itself round the corner of the house. A sign on the gate read ‘Restharrow Farm’.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said, turning to Remus. “What a lovely place to grow up.”

He smiled. “Well, it’s certainly cosier than Grimmauld Place.” He looked around him, thoughtful. “I’m very fond of it. To me the fens will always have a bleak sort of beauty.”

“Well I’d certainly pick this over a suburban semi in Milton-under-Roch any day.”

Remus laughed as he opened the gate and held it open for me to pass through. “I might not have agreed with you when I was fifteen. I thought it was extremely boring living out here, especially compared to dormitory life at Hogwarts. It’s three miles to the nearest village, and even then there’s only a Muggle post office, a pub where I was too well-known to get away with buying a drink, and a church. And you can’t fly a broomstick, either, because of how flat the land is –- you’d be seen miles away. It used to drive James mad when he stayed here.”

Following him across the courtyard, I smiled at the idea of a teenaged Remus trying to get served in the pub. He opened the door without knocking, and I entered behind him, finding myself in a kitchen.

I waited by the door while Remus went to look for his father. The kitchen was large-ish and cluttered. There was a small oak table and three chairs, and everything else you’d expect to see in a kitchen, but there were also an awful lot of books. There were books on shelves by the door, lined up along the back of the worktops and in the glass-fronted cabinets in the dresser. There were even books stacked on top of the cupboards and on one of the chairs. If the other rooms were anything like this, no wonder there was a problem with Book Lice.

I was looking at some of the titles by the door (_A Stitch in Time: 101 Charms to Save Your Robes_ and _Flora and Fauna of East Anglia (Wizarding Edition)_) and trying to subdue the butterflies in my stomach (who now seemed intent on qualifying for the World Cup, due to the imminent prospect of meeting Mr Lupin) when Remus returned.

“Tonks, this is my father, Ralph Lupin,” he said, grinning as I turned to face them and somehow knocked three books off the worktop with my elbow when I saw what Remus would look like in thirty years' time. Remus was even exactly the same height as his father. “Dad, this is my very good friend Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers people to avoid her first name.”

My heart sank. What, exactly, did ‘very good friend’ mean, especially when it was combined with one of Remus’ most unreadable expressions? He could be saying anything from, “This is Nymphadora Tonks who I actually quite fancy and consider a potential lover,” to, “This is Nymphadora Tonks, who is _not_ my girlfriend, Dad, and never will be, so don’t even dare to think it.” I was no closer to figuring out where our relationship was heading than I had been the previous afternoon.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Ralph, offering me his hand as I was bent to pick up the books and apologising profusely for my clumsiness. “And don’t fret,” he continued, giving me a kindly but slightly mischievous smile, “Those books have survived worse than a three foot drop. I believe Remus left that one in the middle outside overnight in the rain when he was nine.”

Remus rolled his eyes and offered to put the kettle on, and as we sat down at the table for tea and biscuits, I realised I’d forgotten to be annoyed that he’d introduced me as Nymphadora.

 

* * * *

 

After we’d chatted for an hour or so, Remus gave me a tour of the house. The other rooms were much like the kitchen; clean, though not especially tidy, and completely overflowing with books. The furniture ranged from elegant Victorian to more modern and fairly rustic; absolutely nothing matched, and yet everything looked good together. I loved it.

The guided tour ended with the room where I would sleep. Remus left me alone to unpack in the bright, sunny little room at the top of the house which had obviously once doubled as a sewing room. I knew that Remus’ mother had been a robemaker when she’d been alive and this must have been where she’d worked. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was neat and organised; bright spools of thread sat in special racks, reams of fabric were stacked tidily on the shelves, and, by the looks of it, the paper patterns were filed by size and type. In addition to the patchwork quilted bed where I would sleep, there was a Muggle sewing machine on the desk, a wireless on the windowsill, and a dressmaker’s dummy in the corner. There were plenty of books here as well, with titles ranging from the scholarly (_Transfiguration in Robemaking: A History_), to the practical (_50 Charms for Charming Embroidery_), to the downright bizarre (_Knitting with Kneazle Hair_) and even some that were Muggle (_The Reader’s Digest Complete Guide to Sewing_).

Just as I finished unpacking my overnight bag, Remus called up to me that lunch was ready and I headed downstairs.

 

* * * *

 

“Book Lice are fairly easy to get rid of,” said Remus as we entered the dining room after a pleasant lunch in the kitchen, “if you catch them early, which we haven’t, unfortunately. Dad can’t bear to exterminate them –- he thinks they’re interesting. Never marry a Magi-zoologist, Tonks; you’ll spend your life overrun with pests.”

What did _that_ comment mean? Was it just another flirtatious remark, or did he actually mean, “Never marry a Magi-zoologist, Tonks, because I’d rather you married me”? But of course I didn’t voice my questions, instead I asked, “What exactly are Magical Book Lice?”

“Basically, they’re small insects a fraction of an inch long that live in the spines of Wizarding books,” he replied. “They feed on the magic in the binding, and if they’re left too long, the book will fall apart completely.” He was in full ‘professor mode’ now, explaining the ins and outs of Magical Book Lice with a skill and enthusiasm that I had to admit was rather attractive. “The spell to get rid of them is quite simple, but the process is time consuming, because you have to cast the spell on each book individually.”

I must have looked appalled, because then he said, “I’m sorry, I did warn you it would be tedious, but we can talk about your case at the same time, if you like.”

So, after he’d shown me how to do the charm, we started working our way through the books in the dining room, and I outlined my investigation.

“It’s obviously some kind of slow-acting curse,” I concluded, “and I think it’s most likely to have come from an object, rather than a direct spell, because of the protections already on the victims’ houses. But the thing is, it’s not like any curse I’ve ever seen before. All the victims became ill at different times, but they all died on the same day. That’s what alerted us to the fact that the deaths were suspicious.”

“I can only think of a couple of curses like that,” said Remus. “What were the symptoms?”

“Tiredness, weakness, anæmia, weight-loss, an increasing inability to cast spells, and eventually, death.”

“All the symptoms of Systemic Magical Dystrophy, then?”

“SMD? Yes, that was what they were all originally diagnosed with.” I was surprised; SMD isn’t a very common disease, and as far as I knew, Remus had never studied anything related to Healing. “What do you know about it?”

“Quite a lot, actually. It’s what killed my mother.”

“Oh Remus, I’m so sorry,” I said, shocked. ”That must have been awful for you.” How had I not known? And now I’d put my foot in it, just like I always do. SMD was a horrible disease; people with it literally _wasted away_, slowly and painfully. There was no cure -– the Healers could only try to control the pain. It must have been so hard for Remus to watch his mother die like that.

He looked down at the book he was holding, absently tracing the symbols on the spine with his thumb. “It was worse for my father. I was busy teaching for most of her illness. I wasn’t there for them as much as I should have been.” He paused, his expression becoming unreadable again, and then took a deep breath and changed the subject. “This curse, however -- I saw a few like it when I was in Italy. The Italians are experts at this sort of thing. I think you’d do well to look there for your source.”

I did my best to switch my mind back to the case. “So I’d be looking for a person over here with Italian contacts, probably.” I thought for a moment as I put a pile of books back on their shelves. “You know, there’ve always been rumours about Lucrezia Zabini -- she’s Italian by birth. The Auror Department were suspicious about the deaths of her husbands, but they’ve never been able to prove anything; and Moody always said slow-acting curses were the hardest dark magic to prove.”

“That’s a distinct possibility. There were some dark wizards in Florence to whom Mrs. Zabini would be distantly related.”

We worked in silence for a minute or so; the monotonous rhythm of picking a book up off the ‘contaminated’ pile, casting the extermination spell, and putting it down again on the ‘clean’ pile, made it surprisingly easy to think.

“But why would she want to kill these people?” I thought aloud. “I can’t see a motive. She’s interested in money, from what I can tell, and I don’t see how she’d profit from these deaths. There’s no obvious connection between her and them.”

“Could it be Voldemort?”

It was the obvious question. Voldemort was the Moriarty-figure in the centre of Britain’s web of dark magic; everything usually led back to him somehow, however much the Ministry tried to deny it.

“If he is involved,” I said, “then it’s in the background. There’s no specific evidence that points to him, other than the fact that this is right up the Death Eaters' street. Was Zabini allied with him in the first war?”

“Not so far as I can remember,” said Remus. “As you say, she’s motivated by money not politics.” He paused. “Having said that, the Death Eaters have always had a peculiar talent for finding people’s weaknesses and exploiting them. Zabini’s politics are probably neutral enough that if they offered her the right temptation, she’d help them. I think she’d certainly be worth investigating. What sort of people were the victims?”

I couldn’t help but wonder what Remus knew about the Death Eaters’ coercion methods. Had they tried to exploit what they perceived to be _his_ weaknesses? Or did he simply know what they had offered Peter Pettigrew in return for his information? But Remus’ clearly deliberate change of subject stopped me from pursuing it any further. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and it would be pointless to try to force him, given that when it came to avoiding awkward conversations, he was the master.

“Three worked in the ministry,” I said. “None of them were that important, though. They all had mid-level jobs. Another worked at St. Mungo’s. He _was_ quite important, actually -- he was Head Apothecary. But none of them would be any threat to Voldemort.”

Remus considered this, but didn’t seem to come to any conclusions. “The way they died is interesting,” he said. “Usually, the point of using slow-acting curses is that they’re hard to detect. The deaths look natural. But it was the very nature of the curse that brought the deaths to your attention, wasn’t it?” I nodded. “Why use a curse that kills on a specific date,” Remus continued, “when the usual kind, which simply runs its course, would conceal the crime so much better?”

He was right. The curse was so unusual that its effects had to be the key to the case. I thought for a moment as I transferred a pile of books from one arm to another, supporting them with my hip.

“Unless that was the point,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Okay,” I said, returning the books to their shelves one by one. “Suppose it _is_ Voldemort who’s behind these deaths. What if he _wanted_ people to know that the victims were murdered, without causing too much of a stir? I mean, what he really wants right now is supporters -- workers and spies in the right places.” I picked up three more books, repairing the damage to their bindings, and slotted them in next to the ones that were already there. “So, what if the victims refused to help? What if others have refused, too? This would be the perfect way to make an example of them, because object-based curses are really hard to trace, and the deaths are suspicious enough for people to notice, but not so suspicious that they’ll make the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. It’s the perfect way to send a message to the other doubters: if you refuse, this is what’ll happen to you.”

Remus looked at me with such admiration that my heart almost stopped. “You’re right,” he said, “and the beauty of using Zabini to distribute the cursed objects is that she’s the expert. No-one has ever been able to prove anything against her, so the mystery would be unlikely to ever be solved. As it is, the evidence against her is barely circumstantial.”

“I know,” I sighed. “I’ve got my work cut out with this one. And if it _is_ Voldemort, which it looks like it is, no one at the Ministry is going to swallow it.” I took the book that Remus passed me and squeezed it onto a shelf, frustrated that I was probably never going to be able to officially solve my first real case. “We can still investigate it within the Order though. If nothing else we need to find a way of protecting the other people the Death Eater’s are trying to coerce.”

The books in the dining room were all decontaminated by that time, so we switched to the living room, discussing how we should bring the issue up at the next meeting as we went. According to Remus, there wasn’t much of an infestation in here; the Book Lice were limited to one bookcase in the corner. We should be able to finish before dinner.

“Do you play?” I asked Remus, indicating the piano that I’d spotted on my earlier tour of the house.

“A little,” he replied. “My mother taught me when I was quite young. She was of that generation that believed every home should have a piano, and she played beautifully herself.”

“Ooh, would you play me something?” I asked. Remus looked uncertain. “Please?” I said, batting my eyelids theatrically.

He laughed, but sat down on the stool. “I’m rather out of practice,” he said. "I haven’t played for years, so you’ll have to excuse my mistakes.”

I watched the elegant movement of his fingers as he played a slow, mournful little tune, entranced by the beauty of the music and the hands that created it. Remus was completely absorbed in the piece, really feeling the music; it was a side of him I’d never really seen before and if he made any mistakes, I certainly never noticed them.

“That was beautiful,” I said when he finished. “Can you read music, too?”

“Not really. My mother did teach me, but as I mostly played by ear, I’ve forgotten.” He stood. “We should get on if we want to be finished in here before dinner.”

The books in the living room were quickly freed from lice, and we chatted easily as we worked. Remus told me stories from his childhood and I told some from mine. It was nice to talk about things other than Sirius or the Order for a change, something we’d not had much of a chance to do lately, and the time passed quickly.

 

* * * *

 

After a quick shower (it had been a warm day, and I was hot and dusty from the work) I sat down with Remus and his father to a welcome dinner of roast chicken and salad. Ralph was a quiet man, but both Remus and I were never at a loss for something to say, so the conversation flowed quite easily. The two men reminisced about the trouble Remus and his friends had got themselves into as teenagers and Ralph told me about his work as a Magizoologist and Magi-ecologist, which actually sounded pretty interesting.

We talked for so long over dinner that it was late by the time we’d washed up and cleared away. I was very tired from my early start and all the insect extermination, so I went upstairs soon after that, and, judging by the footfalls on the stairs, Remus and his father weren’t far behind.

Despite my tiredness, it was a long time before I slept. My mind was racing, going over and over the events of the day. It was clear that I’d come to think of Remus as more than a friend; all day I’d been admiring some aspect of him or other. The way his eyes lit up when he was explaining something, the elegant flick of his wrist as he cast a spell, the way he instinctively managed to put people at ease, and, oh Merlin, that piano playing! Those fingers!

What name could I put to the feeling, though? It wasn’t like any kind of love I’d experienced before, and certainly nothing like the kind of love I'd read about in books. There’d been no love at first sight, no instant all-encompassing passion, not even a vicious hatred that became a burning desire; just friendship, respect, and a slow-growing attraction that I’d barely noticed until this weekend. Was that a good enough basis for a romantic relationship? Could I really call that love?

We certainly got on very well together, shared the same sense of humour, ideals, and a lot of interests. And talking to Remus was never difficult; we could chat for hours on end without ever running out of things to say, and yet we could sit in silence without it ever becoming awkward. We worked well together, too. Hadn’t we pretty much solved my case just by bouncing ideas off each other? Surely all these things were as good a basis as any for a relationship, whether it was a friendship or something deeper.

But, I thought, turning over in the narrow bed, would pushing our friendship further ruin the relationship we already had? I might have come to terms with my own feelings, but I was far from certain that Remus shared them. True, it was a suspicion that he felt something more than friendship towards me that had made me realise I was attracted to him, but had I seen much evidence to support that idea? On the one hand, he’d invited me into some private areas of his life, shown me where he grew up, introduced me to what family he had left, and spoken incredibly candidly about his feelings surrounding his mother’s death. Yes, that revelation had to be quite significant. It was the first time Remus had told me anything so personal, and it surely demonstrated a great deal of trust between us.

On the other hand, Remus was still very much a closed book. He could be completely impenetrable when he wanted to be, and he often still was in my company. Close as we were, I could never have asked him what he knew about the Death Eaters’ ability to prey on peoples weaknesses, or found out any more about his feelings about his mother’s death. There was still a distance between us, and it was Remus that created it.

But still, I didn’t think I could overestimate the extent to which Remus had invited me into his life this weekend. He’d revealed more about himself in this short space of time than he ever had before, and we’d certainly become closer as a result. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

It was a puzzle, and to solve it, I knew I would probably have to take a huge risk, and jeopardize our friendship in the process. Whether or not I was prepared to take that risk was another matter entirely, and I drifted off to sleep without reaching any real conclusions on that front.

 

* * * *

 

The next day passed much like the previous one, with pleasant meals and more extermination. It was bright and sunny once again, and after a leisurely breakfast, Remus and I tackled the books in the kitchen. The infestation was more pronounced there, and it took until mid-afternoon before we got it sorted. After a late lunch, Remus and I packed our bags, said our goodbyes to Ralph, and headed outside into the lane.

“Thanks for helping me with the investigation,” I said as Remus closed the gate behind us. “It made a real difference. I’d never have worked it all out without speaking to you.”

“It was a pleasure,” he said. “And thank you for helping with the Book Lice. I know you don’t get many days off and I’m sure dealing with insects wouldn’t be your first choice of leisure activity.” He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Are you going straight home?”

“No, I thought I’d stop by Headquarters first. I haven’t seen Sirius in nearly a week. Shall I see you there?”

He nodded, and we Disapparated, one after the other. In London I undid the charms on the door and Remus followed me into the dingy hallway. As we hung our bags on the hooks by the door, my thoughts returned to the issue that had been on my mind all weekend: Remus and our relationship. However different to the great passions of books and fairy tales my situation seemed, I was increasingly sure I could categorise what I felt as love, and being in a position of not knowing _his_ feelings was driving me mad. I’d hardly thought about anything else for days, and that would likely continue if I didn’t take some step to solve the mystery, and soon. If the past three weeks or so were anything to go by, it could be ages until I had any opportunity to speak with him alone, so if I was going to take that risk, it was going to have to happen now.

My decision made, I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and kissed him.

And he kissed me back.


End file.
